Hello, im 23 male (abt 216 pounds, 5'10) and need some assistance with nutrition. When I workout I took my nutrition to account but only did the bare minimum bc I only had $20 a week to spend on food. Luckily I now have a part time gig and need some advice on how to make fast meal while also making them healthy since I do go full time at a community college.
I used to make me 4 sandwiches and bring fruits everyday for school since I don't go home till the day ends. It consists of 3 slices of ham/turkey and tomatoes. I think this suitable in staying healthy for now, but I think my nutrition is still lacking.
Any advice?

If I’d only followed my instincts, I’d never have boarded that doomed ship. When the Azure Seastar left port, its passengers were all alive, each with smart phones and watches and tablets, as well as the cruise ship’s own communications… yet not a single message was sent before it went missing! No distress call.
The fates of over a thousand passengers and crew remain unknown, with only a handful recovered from a lifeboat, days after the Seastar herself vanished. But the coast guard’s only statement on the lifeboat’s recovery was that “the passengers did not survive.” Rumors circulated about a “thermos full of eyeballs” and a “passenger whose mouth was stuffed full of severed fingers”—but these details have been denounced as lies, sensationalizing and capitalizing on a tragedy.
The official cause of the Seastar’s disappearance is a rogue wave. No survivors. No witnesses.
Well… one witness…
… but perhaps I shouldn’t tell. Better for the world if that ship stay lost forever!
The families of the missing, however, deserve the truth… which is why I am posting.
But first, a warning—the gruesome snippets I recounted above barely scratch the surface of the horror I am about to share, some of which I took part in. I wake screaming every night. I sleep with the lights on. I never enter darkened hallways or stairwells. And I do not ever shake hands. Although I’ve always had some quirks (the handshake one is an old habit), most of these are fresh, a consequence of my time aboard that doomed cruise ship. I do not intend to gloss over any details, but rather to give a complete accounting, including of my own involvement… so be forewarned.
And understand that my story is one of unimaginable horror.
***
To explain what really happened aboard the Seastar, I need to first tell a little about myself. Sorry, I know I’m like a bit of decorative wallpaper—just sort of there. But I see things.
It all started when I was very young (I do promise this is relevant). I didn’t want to swim in the community pool with my brother because the water was cloudy, hiding a shadowy figure in the deep end. I distinctly remember standing at the pool’s edge, crying inconsolably while my father urged, “Go on, jump in!”
My brother set the example, diving down to the bottom of the foggy water. When he came up, a silver dollar glinted in his fingers, which he dropped back into the pool before I could snatch it. “Oops! Guess you gotta dive for it!” He laughed, the sun shimmering off his sunburned shoulders. “Come on, there’s quarters down here, too!”
Diving for coins was a game we often played, so I plunged in after him, kicking my way down with my eyes squeezed shut. When my hands grazed the rough cement bottom, I patted around.
Silky hair tangled around my fingers like seaweed.
I forced my eyes open against the stinging chlorine—and shrieked.
Wide, empty eyes stared back at me from a bloated face.
When I shot to the surface, wailing about a dead woman in the water, other swimmers looked on, perplexed. My older brother tried to console me and swore there were nothing but coins.
He was correct—not until a week later would a woman drown in that pool, and sink to the bottom of the foggy water while swimmers unwittingly raced laps above her.
***
The next time I saw was when I threw a tantrum over my grandmother’s armchair. It smelled so bad I grabbed my nose and exclaimed, “Ewwww!”
My parents scolded me for my rudeness. Grandma occasionally struggled with incontinence, so for her chair to stink was, they assumed, the result of an accident. They thought I was exaggerating to make fun of her, but in the sweltering summer, the smell was truly unbearable—like rotting meat and diarrhea and cheap perfume all churned together. I threw such a fit we left, though Grandma insisted on hugging me despite my being an “awful brat.” Her skin was wrinkled, papery-thin and soft as silk, but despite the uncomfortable warmth of her apartment, her embrace was ice cold.
Less than a week later the call came. My grandmother had been found after a neighbor’s complaint about the smell…
She’d died in her chair.
***
But when the seeing really clicked was in my tween years, two separate incidents. The first was after a classmate of my brother’s pulled up in a car reeking of burnt meat, the interior charred and black. He stepped out of the car seeming not to notice that behind him, another version of him remained belted into the front seat, unrecognizable through the char beyond the glint of a gold chain melted into his neck. I burst into hysterical tears and screamed at my brother not to let him drive. The classmate laughed and called me a weirdo.
He crashed later that week.
The second incident began at a school function, where my brother chaperoned me. A man pulled up in the school drop-off zone—he was one of the more popular teachers, famous for his yearly pizza parties. In the car with him were two young kids. I can’t remember their names, just that the littlest boy was giggling and clinging to a toy T-rex when he hopped out. My brother and I were asked to help carry the party supplies and drinks from the teacher’s car. But the moment I opened the passenger door to grab a box, the reek of fetid pond water made my stomach lurch. I staggered back, clapping a hand to my nose and mouth.
“Hey! Everything all right?” the teacher asked.
My brother, no doubt remembering what happened to his classmate weeks earlier, took me aside.
“C-c-c-c-cold!” I burst to him. “D-dark! The smell! Like the rot in the bottom of a lake…”
While I wrung my hands and sniffled, my brother watched the two young kids follow the teacher into the school. He shook my shoulder and said, “Hey—hey, we’re going to save them.”
“How? No one ever believes me!”
“I believe you, Hope. Hey…” He gave me a squeeze and looked in my eyes. “‘Hope’ is the thing with feathers…”
What a dork. That line was from Emily Dickinson—my brother’s favorite quote for me for when I was upset. It was corny, but encouraged me.
A few minutes later, we were careening along backwoods roads in the teacher’s car. To this day, I don’t know how my brother got the keys. His plan was we’d stow the car in a garage for a couple weeks, long enough to outlast the vision, since my predictions always came true within about six days. But it hadn’t occurred to either of us how being inside the car would affect me. The damp and rot washed over my skin. COLD. Every hair on my body stood erect, floating as if underwater. I couldn’t breathe… gagging on the fetid water, I rolled down my window. Raindrops from outside pelted my face, and something… something clicked. A sudden terrible question. When I’d peered into the darkened interior, I hadn’t been able to see… who was inside the car?
“Hey,” my brother said, apparently struck by the same thought. “You’re not foreseeing our deaths, are you?”
I don’t know if it was fate that caused us to fishtail just as he spoke. But also he might have hit something, because there was a bump. All I know is suddenly we were flying, off the road and over the side toward a lake, and then plunging, and I snatched for his hand as the impact slammed us forward into the dashboard. Then the water wasn’t just in my mind. It was real. It was pouring in through the car window.
I fought, flailing. Unbuckled. Floundered through the half-open window. Luckily I was still small enough to get through, swimming up and breaking the surface.
“Cory!” I screamed. “CORY!!!”
But I knew already that my brother wasn’t coming up—his hand had been cold when I’d touched it.
***
Naturally, his death feels like my fault. Oh, in kinder moments I remember that I was a child, and try to forgive myself for letting him get behind that wheel. But for a time, I was driven by the fierce need to atone. I sought desperately to save even one life… ANY life. I’d see a body swaying from a beam in a construction site. Legs dangling from a trunk in the car on the highway ahead of me. A suitcase on sale in a luggage store, dripping blood. Every time I tried to prevent the death… only to fail or worse, cause it. Each loss drove home more deeply my shame, my failure… until eventually…
I gave up.
I don’t try to prevent the deaths anymore. These days I catch a whiff of that familiar sickly putrid scent, and I leave. I avoid human touch, especially handshakes.
I’ve truly become wallpaper. Able to see. Powerless to prevent.
My name, incidentally, is Cassandra… I changed it because I could no longer bear my birth name. If “Hope” is the thing with feathers, I was an angel of death, harbinger of doom to my brother and others. So instead I call myself after the Greek priestess doomed to foresee the future but never to be believed… unable to prevent even one single tragedy.
***
But let’s get back to the cruise. The missing passengers. The eyeballs in the thermos—oh, those grisly details! Mind you, once you know you can’t un-know, no matter how much you drink, or smoke, or however you drown your despair. Speaking of drowning, a month ago today, I hit the big 4-O. I celebrated my four decades of life by doing the one thing I’ve done consistently since I was old enough—drinking away my failures. Every icy grip. Every unheeded warning. And especially the times I’ve well and truly fucked up. Oh yes. Those are the ones that call for some hard forgetting.
I was on my second or seventh drink at my favorite bar when a voice exclaimed, “’Evening, friend!”
A woman with shimmering purple eyeliner and matching purple hair approached. It was the musician who often played there, Lily Tsuki. To be honest, she was the primary reason I frequented that bar, though we’d hardly spoken beyond my occasional compliments about her playing. She slid into the seat next to mine and clinked my glass.
“Roy at the bar told me it’s your fortieth. I see you in here once a week, always tipping well and drinking like you’re trying to drown yourself. Someone did something kind for me recently, so I’m trying to pass it on…” She fished a hand into her pocket, and to my surprise produced a gift card for a cruise. I didn’t catch all of her story in the noisy bar, but apparently, one of her admirers was very rich, always offering her gifts verging on inappropriate. After finding out she’d be playing on the Azure Seastar, said admirer sent her the card so she could spoil herself on the cruise. She didn’t feel comfortable accepting, so she gifted it to me. “… There’s enough on there to cover your fare. Don’t thank me—thank you, I needed to get rid of it. Enjoy your fortieth, friend!”
As she handed me the card, her fingers brushed mine.
Warm. Alive.
I mumbled my thanks, cheeks warm. Why? Because she chose me? Blushes! I’m an idiot.
Still, I was glowing, and not just because I was tipsy. Why not? I thought. Why not treat myself, this once? The Azure Seastar… it sounded like a dream. I’d go see Lily Tsuki play at the piano bar against the backdrop of a glimmering ocean. I’d drink under the stars. Get a tan. Get my sea legs! And every hand would be warm and every breath would taste of the summer breeze!
***
Nine decks (eleven including the crew-only levels). Over a thousand people. Pool, bars, restaurants, lounges, cafés, spa, cabaret—the Seastar truly was the Ritz Carlton on the water! I was absolutely giddy! Of course before the luxury came the wait—just like the airport, parking, luggage, ticketing, security. It was as I neared the entrance for ticketing, enjoying the summer breeze, that I caught traces of a sour odor… a whiff of decay… so faint beneath the car exhaust and the smell of the saltwater that I might have missed it, were I not so attuned to death. At port, it was likely some unfortunate animal packed into a shipping crate and decomposing. I’d even read horror stories of people, trafficked in sealed shipping containers and asphyxiating. That faint whiff made my insides curdle.
Then I was inside the air conditioned terminal, packed with passengers—and inhaling nothing but the blessed AC.
The check in was surprisingly quick. I followed the embarkation signs up the escalator to the terminal’s upper level, through the double glass doors, greeted on my right by printed images of pool decks and steaks and wine glasses. On my left, through the enormous paned wall of glass, the Seastar herself loomed. My God, she was enormous!
So many decks! So many balconies!
Then I squinted a little closer. What was that speck? A tiny figure, draped on a railing?
My heart dropped to my toes.
Something was horribly wrong.
The figure, small against the massive width of the ship… had no face. Only a torso and most of its arms. It had been decapitated, and dried blood spattered the rail.
My footsteps slowed. I pressed against the glass, eyes rapidly roving the rest of the ship. Was it just one…? One incidence of violence, or…
Perhaps I wasn’t seeing correctly. It was a stunt. A practical joke. A mannequin. I needed to get closer. I hurried along the terminal, joining the line out to the gangplank.
The bowl of the sky had turned deep purple, the sun lowering toward the horizon, and in the Seastar’s deep shadow, the temperature dropped. A sudden chill gripped me as I trotted out onto the gangplank. I sniffed. Sniffed again, more deeply.
Rot.
The same putrid odor I’d caught outside. A passenger ahead of me noticed me grabbing my nose, and remarked, “Not used to that ocean smell?” I did not respond, because now that I was close enough to see the ship more clearly, I noticed… cracked glass… broken panes in the sliding glass doors of the cabins… no! I gasped, sinking to my knees, and the passenger kindly leaned to help me up. As her hand seized mine—it was cold.
I jerked back so fast I actually collapsed into the passengers behind us—a mother and her daughter.
“Oh!” exclaimed the mother.
My hand brushed the daughter’s bare arm. Cold.
“Are you okay?” asked the daughter, a child of about twelve.
I crawled back from her, and another person, an elderly gentleman, leaned down to help me up, his hand on my elbow. Cold!
“Miss?” he asked. “Miss—” But I bolted, barely hearing their cries as I launched myself back toward the terminal. No no no no no no no no—my eyes watered and my belly bunched into knots and my heart lurched into my throat and oh God oh God—the ship! The whole. Entire. Ship. It was… dark… windows broken… Not a single light shining in the interior, and spatters of blood here and there visible on its decks and balconies… But worst of all was the smell. I hadn’t even entered the ship yet and already I knew, knew, in the way only I can know, that the smell wasn’t just one body or two. Not if I could detect it all the way out on the gangplank. All the way at the entrance to the terminal. For the whiff of putrefaction to have spread so far, the source was something massive. A colossal pile of decomposing bodies like a herd of dead elephants.
That ship… no one on that ship was going to make it back…
As I entered the terminal with its blessed filtered air and the windows between me and the ship, I turned and looked at the line stretching behind me. Passengers laughing. Chatting. Dressed in their finest. Flirting. Teasing. Buzzing with excitement. Old and young couples. Children.
Everyone on this ship is going to die…
... and I’m the only one who knows…

Not 100% sure of the spelling.
I met up with a Hindi-speaking friend the other day and she used these words, but she struggled to translate them into English.
I think हक​ is https://www.shabdkosh.com/search-dictionary?lc=hi&sl=en&tl=hi&e=%E0%A4%B9%E0%A4%95 , but my friend said this translation doesn't really cover the depth of what the word means.
I cannot find आप्नपन in the dictionary (it's very possible it's spelt differently, maybe आपनपन​? Can't find this either).
She was talking about these words to mean a sort of social bond between people/communities. She used them to mean she felt comfortable asking people for things without them expecting anything in return (i.e. not transactional), but then added that this didn't fully explain them!
Sorry this isn't much to go off! Any help in understanding these words would be appreciated.

I had recently purchased the Bullseye Deluxe, along with aftermarket grill grates, pellets, and a cover. I had wanted to use it on Memorial Day weekend.
When the unit showed up, the metal rim on the lower portion was bent, the included stainless steel grill grate was broken (bent tine prevented it from sitting flush, the inside of the lid was scratched to hell because the cast iron deflector was thrown in there without padding or being secured down. Had issues with the hinge too.
After contacting support and providing details and pictures, I was told they would be sending me a new grill.
Fast forward to today, and the package that showed up from them only contained the lower half. So as of today, I’ve had two shipments from recteq and I still don’t have a working Bullseye Deluxe.
I’m ready to send it all back and call it quits on this once high-quality brand.
Has anyone had a similar experience with the Bullseye Deluxe? There is a video on YouTube with similar QA issues so I figured I’d ask the greater Reddit recteq community. Thanks in advance.

The Deep Hat Collective is a LGBTQ+ Friendly clan with just over 50 members. We are based in UK/EST and accept anyone and everyone.
Are you a NEW PLAYER? We Sherpa (Teach) raids and dungeons every week and would love to do some more with you! So if you are new or returning we will show you the (refurbished) ropes of Modern Destiny 2.
If you are an EXPERIENCED player, we also want you! Raids don't teach themselves afterall... And I sure as hell can't teach all of them. As this clan gets older, we are getting better and want to start doing MASTER Raids and Dungeons, which we can't do... without you!
Our Values: - Having Fun

Without laughter and enjoyment, what's the point? Loot? What for? More non-fun? No. We want to raid and play for the fun of it, not to sweat or to try-hard.

• Community
  

  what is the point of a clan if not to bring people together? We Made this clan from a random Raid sherpa and the friendships formed there are the foundation of this Clan. Building trust, friendships and getting to know a diverse group of people is important here
  

• Non-Toxicity
  

  If someone messes up, help them... Don't patronise them, or condemn them. Show them the way, light the path and allow your team to succeed. Toxicity from anyone is not tolerated as it goes against our value of Having Fun.
  

So if you are looking for an accepting, welcoming, far too sarcastic clan to gamme with, we are just right for you, as the best medicine for a bad day, is a laugh.
Gaming Together, Together we game.

I'll start by recognizing that I am slightly at fault, but not for the motives they're assigning to the situation.
I moved into an urban, slightly yuppie, tight-knit neighborhood (tight-knit except for me). In general in my life, I haven't been very cautious when in my house. I don't wear my glasses inside and the houses across the street from me seemed dark and to have their curtains drawn.
For most of the 1.5 years I've lived here, I've just kept my curtains opened even while walking around naked, thinking that if anyone saw anything, they would let me know. Well, about 2 months ago, I heard my next door neighbor go on a complete tirade to his gf about everything he's heard over in my apartment, and how someone across the street has a video of me masturbating and their kid is in the frame, and how I'm a child molester.
I'm stupid and unaware, maybe annoying and slightly narcissistic. But I'm not a predator and certainly not a child molester.
I thought I was having a mental breakdown and imagining it, but I made a voice recording and heard them faintly in it. The gf seems to be more in the favour of me being unaware, but the guy is lividly convinced I'm a molester and mentions it constantly throughout the day (at this point, my illusions of any sound-proofing are gone). I think I've heard him include proof being that: I watch anime, I listen to podcasts, and apparently another neighbor had a "bad dream" about me.
After I heard him the first time, I immediately put up full curtains and haven't opened them since. I just can't believe it's been more than a year and no one said anything, but instead opted to take recording(s?) of me and let it continue to endanger their children, if that's what they're alleging. I'm actively looking for places to move. However, I know that there's an unknown amount of people in this new city I moved to that know my name and are convinced I'm a child molester. I'm really hoping to move before they decide to take some sort of legal action or something, but the community aspect of this is really killing me.
I tried knocking on their door to apologize for the noise, and I knew what I would say if the allegations were mentioned, but they didn't open the door.
At this point, I think my only option is to move across town and see if this thing blows over. I'm not a yuppie person so I don't mind much about them, but if it trickled down to people I care about, that's literally life-ruining. I seem to have no recourse, and if that video does indeed exist, it on its own would be pretty incriminating to an average person. If not that I'm a molester, that I'm grotesque and could ruin my chances for things in life.
I've heard him literally quote me and comment constantly through the day, mentioning phone calls with friends and talking while I guess we all 3 wfh. I'm laying low right now till I find a new place. I guess I'm looking for support as someone that made a stupid move, but is not a creep. I'm in a relatively new city and just got a nice job. In this period, there are probably a lot more people that know and trust my yuppie neighbor more than me, so I have no defence in the public eye. I'm looking for any suggestions, support, and just to get this off my chest, because I couldn't bear telling anyone I know irl.

Hi all, so glad this community exists, first time posting here.
My story's one I've read here a few times - two kids, 6mo and 5yr, love them with everything in me but every day is so tough and draining. Wife working the stressful job supporting the family, my second career conversion hit a stumbling block when I got let go 6 months into my first position, means I do all the nights with the baby and do the stay-at-home thing until daycare starts at 9mo.
We haven't shared a bed since the birth since she had major health problems including (and causing) PPD, I get woken multiple times a night, she lies awake at night in the other room worrying about work, add in her hatred of the high-stress job she was supposed to quit but can't now and her resentment of my stress and exhaustion when I'm the one spending all the time with the kids - you can guess how our relationship's doing.
What gets me is that we have nothing worked out. I'm 36, I have no savings, no retirement worked out, no home, no security at all. The wife keeps us alive, but there's no money to put aside at the end. I'm not in the US, and there's much older than 36 and way worse problems than mine, but man, every article about how to maximise retirement savings or every pic here of a nice big living room with a dad kicking back with some PS5 on a 48in screen... I don't like to think in terms of schadenfreude or grass being greener, but when you're all played out, it's tough sometimes to keep the demons out.
Wife a bit older than me so we had to get on with it if we wanted kids, I couldn't get my career sorted and then start making humans at 45, but wow, I did not know it was going to be this hard.
Can someone else please tell me they haven't got it figured out yet either, and that it's going to be OK?

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If you're feeling overwhelmed with the day-to-day tasks of running your business, it's time to consider hiring a virtual assistant. As a self-taught professional with over 10 years of experience in administrative support, project management, and customer service, I am confident in my ability to help streamline your operations and increase your bottom line. Let's work together to take your business to the next level!
Skills:

• Administrative tasks, such as email management, scheduling, and data entry
• Project management, from planning to execution
• Graphic design for social media posts, website banners, and more
• Customer service, including responding to inquiries and managing support tickets
• Social media marketing, including content creation and community management
• Research on topics ranging from industry trends to competitor analysis

Tools:

• Microsoft Word for document creation and editing
• Google Suite for collaboration and organization
• Canva for graphic design
• Shopify for online store management
• Hubstaff for time tracking and invoicing
• Asana and Trello for project management
• Slack for team communication
• Ahrefs for SEO analysis and research

My goal is to provide exceptional support to business owners like you, helping you achieve your goals and grow your business. Let me take care of the day-to-day tasks so that you can focus on what really matters.
Don't hesitate to contact me if you have any questions or if you'd like to discuss how I can support your business. I look forward to hearing from you!
Resume: https://drive.google.com/file/d/10IF7LgD4ied6-Z6_vXUgkQsGR7OwHpvE/view?usp=sharing
Rate: $15 USD per hour

This is my first time posting and I'm pretty nervous because most of the comments I read on these threads are super assuming and accusatory. Despite those fears, I seriously feel like I have no one to talk to about this and its so fresh. Since this allows me to be anonymous, I'm hoping typing this out will at least be therapeutic while my husband and I seek professional counseling. So here it goes...
My husband and I have been married for almost 3 years and before that we dated for 3 and have been non-monogamous our entire relationship. We discovered together that we are polyamorous after experiencing a plethora of deeply intricate and emotional relationships with other people that ranged from physical and aromatic to kitchen table to non-sexual romantic to comet partners, etc. As is life, some of these relationships remain intact, some have shifted form, some have ended, but what remained was our commitment to eachother as nesting, long-term partners, so much so that we made the decision to move, pretty far away from the home we had made all these great connections with. Since that move, I've been pretty heartbroken. I knew that moving would mean facing a kind of loss and that it was going to take time and energy to build new friendships and connections and feel a sense of community again.
This hasn't been the case for my husband who grew up here. I haven't felt like myself and my relationship with my husband has been strained. I have tried dating and haven't had good experiences so I have chalked it up to I'm just not ready. On the flip side my husband has made strides, met someone he's gotten to know and had a sexual experience with. That was all well and good and I was happy for him. Our big boundary to opening up a new sexual relationship is spending some good time talking about it and if I have the opportunity to meet them, that's even better for me but not necessarily a requirement as long as we have given eachother the space to really talk and voice our worries and ensure one another we are still safe and loved.
2 days ago, he came home after midnight and told me he had sex with someone new. This person is someone who he has told me about, but only that they have formed a bit of a crush on one another. That was the extent of what I knew of them, never met them, but know they work together often. When he told me they had sex, I completely shattered. He had texted me an hour before getting home saying he was out grabbing drinks and would be home soon. He didn't tell me who he was with. He said he had no idea that they would move so quickly, but he felt blindsided by how completely heartbroken I am by this and frankly, so am I. I feel like a hypocrite, but I no longer feel safe and secure in our relationship. How do we rebuild trust after this? I'm sure my personal emotional state of feeling like I don't have a community here exasperated this, but I can't help but feel like this was a huge betrayal.
Anyway, thanks for reading.

What a BS article!!
This is how and why mmtlp community knows we must fight publicly and hard
Sold some shares or not whos give a FK.
Change’s absolutely nothing to the U3 hault and not releasing bluesheets including shorts not closing their positions or our 2 days of trading 9th/12th!!
It's so disappointing to learn that Forbes is little better than a tabloid rag. I was always thought it was a highly respected news source. Now I wonder how many of their articles I've read in the past that didn't inform me, but instead MISINFORMED me and were paid for with ditty money 💵
$MMTLP
So, is it odd that @Forbes story is mimicking the BS story that fudsters on twitter and stocktwits? Same theme they have been failing to push on social media is now being aimed at the uninformed followers of forbes.
This reeks of desperation!!!! #MMTLP
They are trying to deflect from real issue with look here... selling some shares didn't cause FTDs
Retail buying for stock settlement didn't cause FTDs.
Retail willing to go all in and refuse to lose coupled with RICO organizations that don't know when they lost the game trying to change and rewrite rules and laws did...
They've legally lost we must make it stick
https://www.forbes.com/sites/brandonkochkodin/2023/06/02/newest-heartache-for-mmtlp-investors-a-former-ceo-tries-to-cover-his-tracks/?sh=4095a8417eb6